


A Flash of Tooth and Claw

by evisionarts



Series: The Jaguar and the Dragon [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, BAMF John, BAMF Lestrade, BAMF Mycroft, Cat John, Dragon Mycroft, Dragon Sherlock, Fae & Fairies, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Silver Fox, Silver Fox Lestrade, Urban Fantasy, Were John, Were-Creatures, Werecats, jaguar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-04 03:38:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evisionarts/pseuds/evisionarts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This made no sense. He should be infused with adrenaline, his fight or flight response fully engaged. John wasn’t the only vicious predator here after all. Sherlock was stronger than any shifter no matter what its form and outwitting one would be child’s play. Yet his body didn’t seem to recognize the danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gold

The sharp scent of fresh blood, urine and rancid garbage permeated the cool, nighttime air. Sherlock’s sensitive nose wrinkled as he tried to ignore the filth surrounding him to concentrate on the task at hand. 

“Hello.”

Sherlock paused in the act of tightening his fingers around a small, compact man’s scorching hot throat. The pulse beneath his palm thrummed sure and strong even under the steady pressure of Sherlock’s closing fist. 

Sherlock pale eyes were focused on the man’s left shoulder. It was slightly lower than the right and Sherlock had a feeling something fascinating lay beneath the rough fabric of the man’s cheap button-up. He allowed his gaze to travel upward and scaled a smirk, stumbled over a pert round nose and drowned for a moment in a sea of royal blue. His journey ended on the rise of a golden eyebrow. He shivered.

“Pardon?”

“I said hello.”

This last emerged in a thin rasp as Sherlock’s hand tightened.

Sherlock tilted his head to the side and tapped a long sharp fingernail against a pearly white fang. He fought an urge to fling this stranger away and spend the next twenty minutes rubbing the top of his head against the brick wall behind him. His horns were molting and itched incessantly. God he hated summer. 

“I’m John.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow.

“Excuse me?”

“My name? It’s John.”

Sherlock sighed in exasperation.

“I’m about to eat you.”

“Oh I know.”

John grinned and leaned forward into Sherlock’s grip, his eyes glinting gold.

Wait. Gold?

Heat flared between them and Sherlock was less surprised than he should have been when he found himself flat on his back in a filthy alleyway peering up into the snarling maw of a gorgeous jaguar.  These types of things tended to happen to him. 

He had to admit if he found himself ripped apart under a Jaguar’s impressive claws it was a glorious way to go. Mycroft would never top it. Mycroft’s final vision would undoubtedly be the crumbs of the cake he fell headfirst into after yet another unfortunate binge. 

Sherlock snickered.

It was interesting to learn that a jaguar shifter’s face retained so much human expression. “John” looked puzzled. He shook his magnificent head and …

Wait. Magnificent? Was this shock? Could dragons go into shock? That would make an interesting experiment. Sherlock wondered what it would take to shock Mycroft. The thought of his highness wrapped up in an orange blanket forced him to release another gasp of laughter.

John stared at Sherlock with what could only be interpreted as a wry expression and licked his lips. Sherlock followed the motion with his eyes as his own tongue mirrored the gesture. 

John froze for a moment then settled until he was lying atop Sherlock’s body, pinning him to the dirty pavement. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened as the hot wet nose of a 300 pound jaguar was buried in his throat. He shuddered as an enormous tongue swiped across his jugular and slid up the side of his neck to lick gently at the lobe of his ear.

“Is this strictly necessary?”

Sherlock’s tone was cautious yet he could not keep a note of wanton curiosity from seeping out.

“Does every jaguar shifter … uh …”

Sherlock gasped and shivered as the big cat rubbed his body over certain parts that weren’t used to so much friction.

“Um … J-John … I … uh … will this sort of thing always happen before you eat me?”

That didn’t sound right.

Sherlock wasn’t quite sure what to do when he felt the jaguar’s solid body begin to shake on top of his.

“Are you having a seizure?”

The cat rolled off him and lay on his back on the reeking asphalt next to Sherlock and shook even harder. Sherlock thought he looked ridiculous with his lolling tongue and all four paws waving in the air.

“Are you laughing?”

Sherlock’s frown of indignation only made the cat throw his head back and rumble in amusement.

The situation was so absurd that Sherlock could not stop a chuckle from bubbling up inside him.

“This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”

The cat emitted an agreeable sort of growl in response then rolled back over and sprang to his feet. John was stunning – thick blonde fur with tan spots that appeared to glow with an inner light. Oh and he was coming closer.

Sherlock scooted back until he found himself crowded against a rubbish bin with the hot, meaty breath of a giant jaguar ghosting against his cheek. 

This made no sense. He should be infused with adrenaline, his fight or flight response fully engaged. John wasn’t the only vicious predator here after all. Sherlock was stronger than any shifter no matter what its form and outwitting one would be child’s play. Yet his body didn’t seem to recognize the danger. His fangs had retracted for fuck’s sake.

Sherlock realized he must have argued with himself for quite a while because the big cat was now sitting back on its haunches contemplating him as if he had no idea what to do with such a strange creature.

The air rippled with intense heat and Sherlock threw up a hand to shield his eyes. After a few moments he ventured a peek through his fingers only to be confronted by the sight of a sturdy, fit and naked man crouching before him. Sherlock’s curious gaze swept up past golden skin and settled on a dazzling grin.

Sherlock swallowed and decided he may as well introduce himself.

“Sherlock - Sherlock Holmes.“

“Hello.”

Sherlock blurted out the first observation that came into his head.

“You are not a hunter.”

John laughed, rose to his feet and reached out to offer Sherlock a hand up.

“Nope.  Well, at least not the kind you mean.”

Sherlock grasped John’s warm fingers in his and bounded off the pavement. He tightened his grip and pulled John closer, gaze roaming over his pleasant face, down his collar bone and across an angry knot of red scar tissue that covered his left shoulder. Sherlock tamped down a stab of irrational fury and leaned in to sniff around the area. Closing his eyes he inhaled the heady scent wafting from John’s body.

“Getting a bit personal there.”

Sherlock jumped back and whirled in a circle then began a bit of dramatic pacing.

“You’re ex-military, recruited by MI6 … no … shadow ops … really John? You could have done better. Somehow you managed to masquerade as Dalthari and infiltrate the UK’s most notorious and dangerous band of rogue fey. A feat attempted before by more than one agent though never successfully.Well done. You almost fooled me.”

John lifted his chin and squared his shoulders and stepped forward, crowding into Sherlock’s personal space. 

“I did fool you.”

Sherlock stood his ground and sneered.

“I’ve tracked them for months. Mycroft had no right to stick his fat nose into my business. There was no reason for him to send you and now you’ve delayed me and perhaps fatally compromised the mission.”

John’s eyes flashed gold and he grabbed Sherlock by the arms and growled in his face.

“I compromised … you arrogant git! I was within hours of taking out the entire operation! If you hadn’t come along with your … your … stupid curls and billowy coat and big hands and … um … sorry.”

Sherlock was surprised to find that on certain people sheepish expressions looked adorable.

“Yeah … I got a bit carried away there.”

Sherlock smirked.

“Your stance and defensive fighting postures are indicative of army training. Your knowledge of pain and pressure points that debilitate without causing permanent harm suggest a medical background. You were wounded in the Sere War, invalided home and left adrift since nerve damage ended your surgical career. You were approached by shadow ops and after proving yourself an exceptional candidate in your first exercise you were chosen specifically for this mission. Obvious.”

John gazed up at him in amazement. His eyes sparkled and his cheeky grin made Sherlock feel like dancing on the spot.  How odd.

“How did you … that was brilliant.”

Sherlock favored him with a surprised smile that faltered as John’s body tensed.

“Wait a minute … Holmes.  You said Holmes.“

John took a step back and stared up at Sherlock with a look of dawning horror.

“Oh. My. God. You did the deducing thing. You fucking did. There are two of you. Are you going to kidnap me? Because we really don’t have time for that.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous John. Did I get anything wrong?”

John peered up at him with a doubtful frown.

“What? Oh. Well sort of. I failed miserably at my first assignment.”

Sherlock glared at him.

“I find that hard to believe …”

John giggled, his deep blue eyes sparkling with mischief and Sherlock sucked in a breath. He felt like he was bathing in the warm, comforting rays of the sun. It was disconcerting.

“Yep, though your faith in me is touching, really. I got myself killed Sherlock, the old me anyway.”

Sherlock stared in fascination as John turned around. Four deep and angry grooves slashed the golden skin of John’s broad, well-muscled back. The nasty looking marks extended all the way from John’s trapezius to just above the curve of his lovely bottom. All of Sherlock’s willpower went into forcing his hands to stay at his side. All of his blood migrated south. That was unexpected.

John widened his stance, placed his hands on his hips and looked back over his shoulder with a coquettish air.

“I almost didn’t make it but a few days after I got clawed I sprouted fur and fangs and the rest is history. It was an amazing career boost.”  
Sherlock forced his stunned countenance into a mask of indifference as John turned back to face him.

“Now that we’ve established we’re on the same side do you want to go catch some bad guys?”

John peered up at Sherlock from under his warm, golden lashes. A soft pink tongue darted out to wet his quirking lips. 

Wait. Was the man flirting with him? Dear God.

Sherlock speared him with an intense gaze but John only relaxed into parade rest.

“I do not work for Mycroft. The mission is my own. However I will allow you to accompany me as long as you listen to what I say and do everything I tell you.”

John’s answering smile radiated innocence.

“Whatever you say big guy.”


	2. Familiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock’s nostrils flared and emitted a curl of charcoal gray smoke as shimmering blue-green scales appeared across his cheeks and brow. Glistening fangs emerged from beneath his lips and a single drop of liquid dripped down his jaw, plummeted to the ground and left a smoldering crevice.

Sherlock and John stood outside of a non-descript doorway attached to a well kept building on a quiet London side street. The faint sounds of music and voices came from within.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

There was no real irritation in John’s voice, just a kind of fond exasperation. He stood in front of Sherlock, nude except for a leather collar secured loosely about his neck. A long narrow leash was clipped to a metal ring and Sherlock held the other end.

Sherlock sniffed as if responding to John’s peevishness required enormous effort.

“The invitation was for one. They would question a companion but not a familiar.”

John hooked a finger under the collar and scratched.

“You’re a dragon. Why the hell would a dragon bring his pet to a fey party?” 

Sherlock scowled.

“A familiar is not a pet. They are equal partners in an intricate and complicated relationship that all fey respect and would not dare challenge.”

John considered Sherlock’s words then plucked at the leash and raised a sardonic eyebrow.

“You know as well as I do the Dalthari exist to play power games. They cannot help but acknowledge the bond of familiar and fey yet they delight in subverting it. The fact that you allow me to parade you around in public while arrayed in the obvious trappings of submission will garner much curiosity and envy. We will be noticed. More importantly, they will focus on me while underestimating you.”

John appeared skeptical but shrugged and nodded his head. With a shimmer of heat he was once again a massive jaguar though the effect was a bit spoiled when he batted at his tail.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Reaching into the pocket of his coat he drew out a small square of blood red card stock. He pulled on the leash and hissed when John’s solid frame deliberately bumped into him. Sherlock stumbled but remained on his feet.

“Tut. Tut. Be a nice kitty. If you’re good I promise I’ll give you something to play with in the end.”

Sherlock frowned. That wasn’t quite what he meant to say. Ah well, John was emitting a breathy purr so he supposed it was all fine.

Sherlock held his invitation loosely between thumb and forefinger then flipped it at the door with an elegant twist of his wrist. A flash of light dazzled their eyes and they found themselves walking down a long hallway carpeted with deep orange lilies. Every step they took elicited an overwhelming burst of fragrance though something about it smelled off, as if the flowers were on the edge of decay.

John stiffened and whipped his tail as they approached a metal gate that was forged in such a way that every edge was left razor sharp. Parts of it were stained with the patina of old blood.

“Relax John. They have to believe you are under my control or this won’t work. ”

John snorted but managed to stand still. Sherlock contemplated the gate then breathed out a long-suffering sigh. He unbuttoned a cuff and rolled his sleeve up then shoved his wrist under John’s nose.

“Such ridiculous drama. Bite me.”

Sherlock ignored John’s pained glare to watch in fascination as the enormous Jaguar laved his tongue over his skin then gave a most delicate nip. A single drop of red welled up and Sherlock let it fall on the gleaming surface of the gate. 

The world exploded into color and sound. They stood in the middle of an immense ballroom as lithe dancers in various states of undress laughed and whirled around them.

“How unfortunate to see you here brother mine.”

Sherlock whipped about, his coat flaring out behind him. A ginger-haired man encased in an exquisite three piece suit tilted his head, casually crossed his ankles and leaned on a bright blue umbrella. The barest hint of dark red scales shone on his cheeks and the backs of his hands. Two small pointed horns sat atop his head. Just to his right and a step behind him stood a beautiful silver-haired man in nothing but tight leather trousers. A thin platinum chain lay snug against his throat. 

Sherlock stalked around them in an irritated circle, his lips curving into a sly grin as he surveyed the gray haired man’s lack of attire. He ignored the scowl aimed in his direction.

“Well, well Lestrade how nice of you to dress for the occasion.”

Mycroft hissed in annoyance and halted the manic pacing with a well-practiced flick of his umbrella against Sherlock’s shin. John growled and Mycroft spared him a thoughtful glance before turning to Sherlock with a shrewd smile.

“I see you’ve met my John.”

Sherlock clenched his hands into fists and regarded his brother with a look of warning.

“He was never yours Mycroft.”

Mycroft’s companion ignored the bickering brothers and crouched down in front of John who had settled back on his hind legs to lick and nip at the fur between the toes of his front paw.

“Hiya mate. I’m Greg. Greg Lestrade – Mycroft’s familiar.”

John looked up at that and voiced a low questioning mrrrow. Greg laughed.

“Yeah, well it’s an adventure.”

A throat cleared.

“Gregory you forget your place.”

Greg’s shoulders dropped and he bowed his head and crawled over to kneel at Mycroft’s feet.

“Forgive me my dragon.”

Mycroft lay his hand atop Greg’s head then gripped his hair and pulled his chin up with a rough and possessive tug.

“We will discuss this later in private. You will remain silent for the rest of our evening. For now you will get me another drink.”

Mycroft gave another sharp tug and Greg winced as he was hauled to his feet.

“Off you go.”

Mycroft gave a sharp pat to Greg’s behind as he walked away.

A small, fidgeting man hovered on the edge of their group watching the proceedings with a wolfish grin. His skin was a deep, emerald green and he turned eyes that were an opaque white to follow Greg’s path as he stumbled through a crowd of fey who seemed to take great joy in impeding his progress.

“Really Mycroft you coddle him so.”

Mycroft’s eyes followed Greg as he worked his way through the crowd. Hands grabbed at him as he passed, not holding long enough to stop him but letting him know they could if they wanted to.  Only Sherlock took notice of the blaze of red that lit Mycroft’s pupils for the briefest moment as he catalogued each incident and filed it away for consideration at a more appropriate time. 

Mycroft shifted his razor sharp gaze to the green man.

“As you say Henri. A soft heart is a curse.”

Henri chuckled and raised his glass in a mockery of agreement, then turned to Sherlock while waving his hand in John’s direction.

“And who is this? Sherlock, my dear boy, have you been holding out on us?”

Sherlock tugged on the leash and John huffed a small snarl before he caught himself. Rising elegantly to his feet he came to stand by Sherlock’s side, his head lowered in silent deference.

Henri ‘s eyes lit up and he chortled in delight.

“Oh dear, poor Sherlock! I see you haven’t quite tamed him yet.”

Sherlock’s mouth thinned and he narrowed his eyes as Henri slicked his fingers through the fur on John’s head, rubbing it the wrong way. John shuddered but remained in place staring at Sherlock’s shoes.

Sherlock’s nostrils flared and emitted a curl of charcoal gray smoke as shimmering blue-green scales appeared across his cheeks and brow. Glistening fangs emerged from beneath his lips and a single drop of liquid dripped down his jaw, plummeted to the ground and left a smoldering crevice.

The party had gone silent but a sharp jolt that shook the entire room shattered the climbing tension. Mycroft surveyed the crack his umbrella had left in the marble floor with mild distaste.

“Enough. Henri you know better than to touch another’s familiar without permission. You will apologize or risk expulsion from your post. Sherlock you will learn to control yourself and your beast or suffer the consequences.”

Henri kept his features neutral as he bowed low in Mycroft’s direction until a touch of the umbrella upon his shoulder released him. He nodded politely at Sherlock.

“My apologies dear boy, no offense meant. I am sure you have the situation well in hand.”

Henri walked away while the brothers engaged in a series of pointed looks mixed with angry wordless exchanges. John leaned into Sherlock who absently rubbed the spot where Henri’s hand had petted as if to wipe away any lingering presence of the fey’s touch upon John. He snatched his hand away as he realized Mycroft was eying it with a hint of amusement. Scowling he spared Mycroft a reluctant nod and gave a rough tug at John’s leash.

“Come along John.”


	3. Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock stopped arguing. He brought his mouth to John’s, brushing sweet, little kisses against his lips. John responded with great care, his tongue dipping inside and exploring as if this were the most important thing he ever attempted.

Sherlock guided John through the crowd of fey, his grip tight on the leash while his palm rested atop the curve of the jaguar’s mighty head.  He ignored the gasps of surprise and murmurs of frantic conversation that surrounded them. Sherlock was certain that sighting a notorious son of the House of Dragon with an unknown familiar at an official fey gathering was the highlight of their petty little lives. Dull.

He ignored them all, heading for an archway that led out to a broad balcony overlooking a moonlit garden. Sherlock rolled his eyes at the smirks that followed their journey down wide marble steps and onto a gravel path. John remained silent as he walked beside Sherlock, content to let him lead the way until they came to a secluded spot where he spun and with one solid knock of his shoulder pushed Sherlock’s stumbling body against a tree.

The jaguar rose up on his hind legs and pinned Sherlock between his enormous paws. They glared, each refusing to be the first one to give in and look away. John’s tongue peeked out from beneath his long, sharp teeth and he touched it to the tip of Sherlock’s nose then allowed it to lave downward to brush against his mouth. He pulled his head back awaiting Sherlock’s next move.

Sherlock seemed shaken and John began to back away but he was stopped by the tight slide of fingers beneath his collar pulling him close. A shimmer of white hot light and John’s golden, naked human form was pressing into Sherlock’s.

Sherlock swallowed. “We’re on a mission.”

“I know.” John nuzzled close and whispered into Sherlock’s ear. 

“We could be killed.” Sherlock cupped his hand against John’s perfect cheekbone. 

John chuckled into the curve of Sherlock’s neck. “Even better.” 

Sherlock stopped arguing. He brought his mouth to John’s, brushing sweet, little kisses against his lips. John responded with great care, his tongue dipping inside and exploring as if this were the most important thing he ever attempted.

Sherlock was annoyed at how fragile he felt in John’s well muscled arms. He wasn’t used to giving up control or even sharing it. He took what he wanted and didn’t give a damn about the consequences. John had him wrong footed from the start and he was disturbed at how much he liked it.

“SShhh.” John moved to suck at Sherlock’s ear lobe, raising one arm to cradle the back of Sherlock’s head. He pulled on the curls at the nape of a long white neck and laughed as he felt a shiver against him. 

John ground his hips into Sherlock’s, his hands descending to cup a firm round ass. “Let me move you where I want, touch you were I need to touch you. Let me have you Sherlock. Sssshh.”

Sherlock’s eyelids slid closed as he was unable to fight the sensations washing over him. He was on the verge of surrender when John’s body stiffened. Sherlock opened his eyes, surprised by John’s pained expression then caught him as he collapsed. 

Tightening his grip on John’s slack form he peered over that beautiful head of golden hair. Henri stood behind them, reloading a gun with a wicked looking dart while sporting a wild grin. 

“Don’t worry Sherlock my boy, there’s enough to go around.” 

The gun fired and Sherlock hissed at the sharp sting in the side of his neck. Everything went red then grey. Sherlock’s legs gave out and he slid to the ground clutching John to him. Voices came as if across a great chasm and flashes of blurry movement cut through his vision. He snarled as John was taken from his grasp then groaned when pain flared at a solid kick against his ribs. His limbs flopped about as he was lifted and slung over a broad shoulder.

Sherlock drifted in and out of consciousness before becoming aware of the chill seeping into his skin from lying on a cold concrete floor. The acrid odor of ammonia assaulted his senses and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. He opened his eyes and jerked his head back upon finding his vision obscured by dim light and glowing metal rods. The bars surrounding him rattled as he moved and he realized he was trapped in a metal cage. He felt the promise of his scales sizzling beneath his human countenance and the pressure of his fangs attempting to erupt from his mouth. But he could not change. He threw himself against the bars, hissing in frustration.

Sherlock tucked himself in a corner of his prison and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. He knew the drugs still in his system were heightening his panic and he couldn’t allow himself to give into them. He needed to think. He tried to focus on the last thing he could remember. He and John had – John. John! Where was John? 

Sherlock strained to see through the shadows. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light he could make out cabinets and counters with some kind of equipment strewn about in a haphazard way. There was a table and something large was lying atop it. 

A door was flung open with a loud bang and bright lights blinded Sherlock. He threw up his hands to shield himself from the intense glare and ignored the way his eyes watered as they struggled to adjust to the sudden change. As his sight cleared he clenched his jaw with anger and unease. He was in a lab and John was strapped to a table in his jaguar form. He was facing Sherlock and a thick leather muzzle was secured around his mouth. His whiskers twitched when he noticed Sherlock was looking at him. His eyes were sad and filled with longing. Sherlock snarled, grabbing the bars of his cage as if trying to rip them apart with his bare hands.

“Really Sherlock must you make all that racket? You’re no longer a child you know and there’s no one to hear you anyway.” 

Henri stepped around the table and crouched down in front of the cage just out of reach of the arm Sherlock flung through the bars. “Now, now there’s no reason to be upset. It’s an experiment Sherlock. You’ll love this.”

Henri held up a vial of pale pink liquid, twirling the contents and staring at it in fascination. “Do you know what this is? Of course you don’t. Not really your area is it. Well not until now anyway. In the past you made no distinction between familiar and beast.  Did you think yourself above all that?”

Henri’s face shone with glee and he swatted at Sherlock’s grasping fingers. “To think I would live to see it. The great Sherlock Holmes brought so low by a filthy Jaguar shifter. But don’t worry, dear boy. I have your best interests at heart. You’ll see.”

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock retrieved his hand and leaned back against the other side of the cage affecting an air of nonchalance. “He means nothing to me.”

Henri threw the vial of liquid into the air and caught it grinning at Sherlock the whole time. “Of course not. It hardly matters my boy. You’re a fledgling trying to get the grown-ups to notice him. The only one who cares about you is big brother. He’s the important one. Well for the moment. Soon he won’t matter at all.”

Henri sprang to his feet and strode over to the row of cabinets. He wrenched one open and spewed out a manic giggle when John flinched at the crash of the metal door against its neighbor. After much rummaging around, Henri removed a large syringe. He flicked off the plastic cap and inserted the needle into the vial. 

“You’re a lucky one John Watson.” Henri’s breath hitched as the liquid flowed into the body of the syringe. “You’ll get the whole experience before you die – human – fey – beast. I envy you in a way. Well I don’t really but you know what I mean.”

Henri flung the empty vial away and stepped over to the table.

“No!” Sherlock screamed as John struggled against his bonds, blood flowing from his jaws as the muzzle cut into delicate skin. “Wait! I’ll do anything! Whatever you want! I’ll betray Mycroft! Tell me what you want!”

“Oh Sherlock.” Henri’s voice was filled with a mockery of sympathy as he plunged the contents of the syringe into John’s heaving body. “You already have.”

Sherlock slumped against the bars as Henri withdrew the needle and tossed it onto the counter behind him.  His words were thick and muffled. “What have you done?” 

But he already knew.

John lay still as Henri patted him on the head and walked across the room to open the door. He slipped out then stuck his head back around. “I’ll just give you two a moment.” 

Sherlock stared at John’s silent form until the great cat twitched and opened his eyes. John looked sad but resigned.

Sherlock clasped the bars, pulling himself as close to John as he could get. “I- John listen to me. Try not to forget. Hold on to one thing. The most important thing whatever that is. Bury it in a corner and don’t let it go. I’ll bring you back. Just don’t – don’t – I know you can’t keep it all. Not right now. That’s OK. All we need is a spark.”

Sherlock pushed his way through the bars straining against them, his arm stretched as far as it could go, his fingers reaching for John. 

John fought against his bonds, his proud head lifting off the table. His gaze sought Sherlock and he did not blink as the light went out in his eyes.

Sherlock watched the jaguar struggle with the restraints to the point of exhaustion. Mewing rumbles of distress and heavy pants filled the air. The big cat’s eyes turned to Sherlock many times but there was no sign of John. John was gone.


	4. Desert

John trudged through a sea of blood red sand, a desert so vast he couldn’t see any other defining feature. Above him an endless black shadow obscured the sky. He walked for hours trying to find a way out of this wilderness. Every time he looked up from his plodding feet he encountered the same unwavering vista. 

He was released from his malaise by an insistent buzz pricking at his ears. The hairs on the nape of his neck came to attention and he felt eyes staring at his back.

He halted his useless trek and turned in a circle. The air fell heavy and cloying on his skin. It sank into his pores forcing the breath from his lungs.  He dragged his arms up from his sides but it was as if he was drowning in molasses. John struggled harder as his movement became more restricted and then stilled. He was frozen like a fly caught in amber.

A thin sharp sound cut through the silence. Was that a whistle? For fuck’s sake was that “God Save the Queen”?  A single figure appeared on the horizon, dressed in an impeccable three piece suit and twirling a bright blue umbrella. John watched helpless as the brolly was heaved up and brought down upon his shoulder with a resounding thwack.  He dropped to the ground as the power holding him gave way with a rush of fiery air. He landed with grace and regained his feet with smooth liquid movements. 

John squared his shoulders, his hands curling into fists so tight he could feel the blood dripping from his palms. He was solid and dangerous and spoiling for a fight. “Mycroft.”

Mycroft leaned on his umbrella considering John with a predatory gaze. “Interesting. There should be nothing left of you and yet here you are.”

“And where the hell is this?” John spat the words, his eyes never leaving Mycroft’s.

Mycroft returned a sly smile. “You would know better than me. It is, after all, your choice of venue.”

John frowned. “OK. Whatever that means. How do we get out of this? Actually, why are you even here?”

Mycroft raised his eyes to the darkness above them and tapped his umbrella against his shoe. “You are the one who called me. “ His tongue darted out to lick his thin lips. “One moment I was having a lovely dream … mmm … rolling a fox over in a field of heather and the next I’m here. Interesting place to choose by the way. It says quite a lot about you does it not?”

“Right.” John ran a hand through his hair and shifted his feet. “Don’t ever feel the need to share any of your dreams ever again.”

“And you?” Mycroft ‘s smile was insincere, tipping over into condescension. “Is there any information you would like to impart?”

John opened his mouth then closed it in confusion, shaking his head before trying again. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m not sure. I should remember something. Shouldn’t I? Why do I remember you?”

Mycroft hummed and leaned forward on his umbrella, peering at John with a curious intensity. “That is indeed the question.”

John pinched his nose as pain built up behind his eyes. “This isn’t right. None of this is. Something happened. Somehow– damn it why can’t I remember?”

John lashed out in frustration, grabbing Mycroft by the tie and pulling him close until he was no more than two inches from the man’s long nose. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Mycroft’s expression was annoyed but calm. “Really, must your kind always resort to violence?”

John fixed the man with an angry stare then let him go and backed away. “What do you mean my kind?”

Mycroft frowned in distaste and flicked at his lapels as if they were covered in something he couldn’t quite get rid of. “This is your scenario not mine. You call me here and waste my time posturing. If you can’t stand the danger then perhaps you should remove yourself from beneath the rocking chair.”

John took a step towards Mycroft, his gaze hard and unyielding. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m not a bloody cat!” John’s eyes widened. “I- I’m not – oh my fucking god I am a cat. I’m a really big bloody, fucking cat.”

John glared as Mycroft’s umbrella tapped him lightly on the head. 

Mycroft bowed and bestowed a small smile as if he were rewarding a well done trick. “Very good.”

John growled. “I’m not your damned pet. I’m not – I’m not anyone’s pet.” His eyes sparked with understanding as Mycroft faded away. “I’m not an animal at all. I’m John. John Watson.” 

A bolt of searing pain ripped through John’s body and dropped him to his knees. The agony intensified and John crumpled sideways to the ground, wrapping his arms around his head. He rocked back and forth and screamed into the silence. “I’m John!” He closed his eyes and panted through waves of nausea refusing to be overwhelmed. “I’m Doctor John H. Watson!” 

The world shattered.

John opened his eyes and breathed out a horrified mew. Sherlock lay flat on his back in the dirt while John’s jaguar hovered over him. Saliva dripped from his snarling mouth onto Sherlock’s bare and heaving chest. Several shallow, bleeding scratches already marred pale skin and John’s fangs were inches from the man’s throat. John clenched his jaws shut and raised his head to meet eyes heavy with sorrow that morphed into confusion and then joy. 

Sherlock’s trembling hand found its way into the fur at John’s neck and gave a fond tug. “Welcome back John.”  
John nuzzled his nose into Sherlock’s neck huffing out a rumbly purr.

“John I appreciate the ...” Sherlock winced as if the next word pained him to say. “… sentiment.  I think, however, we may want to continue this part later. It’s been a bit busy while you were gone.”

John raised his massive head to find they were very much not alone. They were, in fact, in the middle of a large, sandy arena surrounded by hundreds of fey lounging in the stadium seating above them. There were catcalls and murmurs of confusion as he stepped away from Sherlock who climbed to his feet, swaying a bit. John moved closer so Sherlock could lean against him. 

As his gaze swept across the spectators John’s eyes landed on a raised platform with a set of ornately carved chairs. Henri was rising from his seat on the verge of panic. Mycroft sat to his right, resting his chin upon the handle of the umbrella he held between his knees. He gave the pair a slight and thoughtful nod. Lestrade sat to Henri’s left, his fists gripping the fabric of the cushions but a look of dawning hope brightening his features.

“Kill him!” Henri shrieked as the rest of the crowd went silent around him. 

A flash of searing white heat left John standing in the middle of the arena in his human form. He stood proud and strong and slid his hand into Sherlock’s. His answering challenge rang out through the space and echoed back in a calm and confident tone. “Sherlock is not the one I am going to kill.”


	5. Shift

Mycroft rose from his seat and surveyed the crowd as if committing each one of their faces to memory. He hung his umbrella from his arm and straightened his waistcoat. “You appear to have lost the advantage Henri. Perhaps it was unwise to attempt to blackmail your king with his brother’s life?”

Henri chuckled. “It’s too late for protests dear boy you have already shown your hand. You are more interested in testing how my formulas work than in your little brother’s welfare.”

Henri’s voice gained confidence as he paced in front of the entranced crowd. “You accepted my offer to demonstrate my theories then sat here and did nothing while your brother bled into the dirt. You would have let him perish at the hand of your own man. You are unfit to ensure the trains run on time let alone for a position of real power and everyone here has borne witness to your incompetence.”

Henri halted in front of Mycroft and sneered in his face. “I have sown the seeds of discord that will take you down insolent boy. Soon the Dalthari wll be recognized as the true heirs of the first born.”

Mycroft tilted his head and considered Henri’s words with a slight frown, resembling a bird peering down at an unsuspecting insect. “Did you really think to hold me hostage Henri? To use my perceived weaknesses against me?  Did you actually believe I would not make sure that every fey in my care is able to take care of themselves? Or that I would not have plans to ensure their safety if they were unable to do so?”

Henri cried out and stumbled back, his hand flying to his cheek and coming away slick with blood, an iron tipped arrow embedded in the ground at his feet. Armored fey stepped out of the shadows, surrounding the crowd, crossbows at the ready.

A cry of outrage pushed past Henri’s lips as he leapt to Greg’s side, withdrawing a packet of powder from his waistcoat pocket and flinging it in the startled fey’s face. Greg staggered back as he was overtaken by an involuntary shift. Dapples of cool silver light shimmered in the air and a beautiful soft gray fox appeared out of a thin veil of smoke. 

Henri snatched the surprised fox by the scruff of his neck and dangled him in front of Mycroft’s nose. “Did you forget someone Mycroft old thing?”

Henri stepped back but kept a tight hold upon the struggling fox.

“You’re a disgrace to the fey Mycroft. You allow the weak to thrive while you work to keep those of us with the right to power sniveling in the shadows.” Henri lifted the fox over his head and turned away from Mycroft to address the gathered fey. “This is what your king deems worthy of his esteem! A bastard fox born out of a worthless human father and a fey woman so addicted to human blood she sold herself as a whore to get her next fix!”

Whispers of shock and disapproval permeated the crowd. The fox went limp in Henri’s hands. 

Mycroft’s smile was ice. Henri could not hide a shiver of unease as he lowered the fox and clutched it to his chest as if trying to hide behind the small, still form.

“What Henri says is true.” Mycroft ignored Henri’s start of surprise as he spoke with quiet reverence. “Gregory’s father is human. His mother was an addict who died shortly after he was born. He was raised on the streets. His strength lies not in his bloodline but within himself. He is the most worthy fey I know. And it is I who must work to earn the right to be by his side. Gregory, if you please?”

Henri screamed. A burst of flame scorched his hands black as the animal he held shifted into a different form. A snarling wolverine slashed at his face, sharp teeth sinking into his shoulder and not letting go even as the green-skinned fey pounded with increasing desperation on the ferocious creature’s thrashing body.

Henri’s blows weakened as blood poured from his wounds and he sank to his knees. The wolverine released him and trotted to Mycroft’s side where he settled down to lick his soiled paws clean. 

Mycroft regarded the wolverine with undisguised fondness. “As we all know a secondary shift is exceedingly rare. We have not seen one for generations, it is a bloodline thought extinct. It is a talent so revered that our most honored texts are dedicated to detailing the lives of these most precious of fey.”

Mycroft faced the crowd and brought his umbrella down hard upon the ground. The arena quaked with the force of his power and the assembled fey cried out and struggled not to fall into the pit. Mycroft’s voice rang out in challenge. “Tell me, who among you will question Gregory’s right to rule at my side?”

The wolverine’s head shot up at the implication of these words and he regarded Mycroft with wide eyes. He gave a snort of exasperation as Mycroft avoided his gaze.

The tremors faded away and silence descended upon the spectators. No one stepped forward.

Mycroft did not bother to glance in Henri’s direction as two of the armored fey hauled him to his feet. “You touched Gregory. That was an unfortunate decision. I will endeavor to ensure you have significant time to ponder the error of your ways.”

Mycroft inclined his head at Henri as a beautiful blue- haired woman approached, her head bowed low over the phone in her hand. “Please make sure our guest is quartered appropriately. I will visit him shortly.” 

The woman nodded and stepped in front of the guards. The green-skinned fey cursed and spat as he was dragged away.

Mycroft called down into the arena. “Are you well brother mine?”

“Just how long were you planning to wait to initiate your plan?” Sherlock griped over his shoulder as he pulled John to the far wall and pushed open a gate disappearing into the interior of the stadium.

A flare of heat and flame left Greg standing tall and strong and quite naked at the king’s side. Mycroft tsked and removed his coat draping it over Greg’s shoulders. “Only I am allowed to gaze at such beauty my Gregory.”

“Don’t sweet talk me Mycroft Holmes. What was that bit about ruling at your side?” Gregory huffed as he wrapped the coat around his body and breathed in Mycroft’s tantalizing scent.

Mycroft regarded Greg with a possessive quirk of his lips. “You must be starving my dear. Let us retire to my chambers and we will dine and discuss other matters.”

Greg’s eyes narrowed. “We’re going to discuss this matter you arse. You proposed to me in front of a bunch of murderous, power-hungry fey while I was a wolverine! I couldn’t even answer you!”

Mycroft held up a hand in supplication. “You are exhausted from your fight my beloved. Let us depart so that you may rest and renew your energies.”

“I’ll rest and renew your arse you bloody …”

The bickering voices trailed off into the distance as the king and his consort took their leave. John and Sherlock watched from a secluded alcove as the pair made their way down the corridor. John cleared his throat. “So … does this count as our first date?”

Sherlock chuckled and wound his arms around John, pressing himself against a well-muscled back. John leaned into Sherlock’s embrace, a subtle shift allowing him to press the curve of his arse into Sherlock’s groin. Sherlock’s breath hitched and he gave a teasing lick at John’s ear. “Come home with me.”

John hummed, wiggling his bottom and enjoying the gasp this elicited. “Do you ask all the fey who almost kill you to come home with you?”

Sherlock rubbed his nose into John’s hair. “Don’t be ridiculous John I wouldn’t have time for anything else.”

John threw his head back and laughed.  “You are amazing. We’d better steal some clothes first. I don’t fancy trying to flag down a cab in my bare skin.”

Sherlock grabbed John’s hand and tugged him from their hiding place to stride down the hall with serious purpose. “Attempted murder and petty theft all on the first date John?”

He swept a piercing gaze up and down the corridor as he stopped in front of a heavy oak door. He allowed a claw to extend from his fingertip, deftly picked the lock and pushed John inside.  “You are perfect.”


	6. Epilogue

Greg felt much better after taking a shower and purging all traces of Henri’s fetid odor from his skin. He emerged from the bath wrapped in a red silk robe and crossed the bedroom to where Mycroft stood watching his every move. He slid his hand through soft ginger hair while peering up from under his long lashes. “Did I play my part well my Dragon?”

Mycroft closed his eyes and melted beneath his lovers caress. “Oh my dear you were exquisite as always.”

Greg slid open the drawer in the bedside table and plucked something from within before grabbing Mycroft by the lapels. “You, Mycroft Holmes, have much to make up for.”  He nipped, licked and sucked at Mycroft’s ear. “My bad boy.” 

Mycroft shuddered as his wrists were grabbed and secured in tight shackles. 

Greg's fingers traced a line from Mycroft’s bound wrists to cup his arse and pull him close. Hot breath ghosted against Mycroft’s cheek as Greg leaned in and whispered. “You’ll know my answer soon enough my dragon. But you’re going to have to work for it.”

Mycroft swallowed. “Yes.”

FIN


	7. Cover




End file.
